


the never-resting hands of mayhem

by dewthreads



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, F/M, Last Names Are Changed - Freeform, Not Beta Read, Swordfighting, Swords & Sorcery, Worldbuilding, literally a dnd au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-03-20 04:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18985153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dewthreads/pseuds/dewthreads
Summary: Stream's End has entered an age of blossoming. Now that goblins have been completely eradicated, the city resumes its carefree and light air. And just when the city is finally at its peak, a bigger problem looms over their horizon.Connor, a young paladin who's tired of watching from the sidelines, finally takes action and saves his city (with the aid of a few others, of course).





	the never-resting hands of mayhem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor has had the idea of becoming a true hero since his childhood. His superior and mentor, Amanda, has completely different plans for him.

A dull thud of a sword reverberated around the desolate arena, soon filled with the heavy breaths of a boy. Dim orange lighting seemed to give prominence to his every move, glorifying the adolescent’s image. The grey walls that enclosed him shook as he let out sharp inhales, as well as when his sword let out a heroic whine. The thin layer of sand (laying within the stone perimeter of the arena) that blanketed his leather boots moved with him, letting out a myriad of stark crunches. A wonderful cycle, if only seen once.

He moved with calculated (perhaps memorized) grace, his foot advancing not unlike a snake (or whatever animal moves with such a cunning grace). His arms fell into a familiar pattern of holding the sword up to the breastplate of his armour, flying up to beyond his head, and falling short a few centimetres from his target. So as not to completely obliterate the flour-filled dummy that was pathetically held up by a series of wooden stakes. 

Though he had practised his move with the textbook technique and looked absolutely indifferent to what it was that he was doing, he was (in a physical aspect) in hell. His arms felt as though they were a quivery, gelatinous substance, muscles feeling like a stiff rubber. His bones seemed to have disappeared, and he was banking on what little stamina he had left to  _almost_ hit the dummy, yet again. His body was encased in a thin layer of sweat, which made the poor boy feel even worse about the state he was in. All the while constantly panting. 

And as he had begged with his systems to at least muster out a sentence of rebuttal, his legs had decided that enough was enough. They gave in, leaving him to totter in a downright foolish manner, before falling to his knees. The sword he had held with such an intense grip slipped from his hand, leaving him with an ache in his legs and left hand. Feebleness had punched him in the stomach, and sending a wave of nausea upon them. His right hand flew to his increasingly sensitive stomach, attempting to aid the pain. Tears welled up in his eyes, and vulnerability came crashing down upon him. 

_No._

_No._

_Please no._

His stomach prevailed in the end and spared the lad the embarrassment of projecting his most recent meal onto the sandy floor. Instead, he had to deal with a lecture from his superior, who- Gods bless her-had to watch her pseudo-progeny (which is perhaps a description too kind in her eyes) fail at a following a technique. A simple one, at that. How could someone fail at repeating something over and over again? Only him, her 'beloved' student. 

She started her rant as she had always done, with a small  _hem-hem_ (A noise akin to a cough? No one really knew.) that made the recipient of said  _hem-hem_  increasingly morose by the second.

 Her student, with the strength of a dying leaf, had turned his head to the right, staring at her white robe that flowed supernaturally against the earth for a solid minute. With that same strength and ardour, he looked up at her cold, angular face. The absolute, genuine pain that seared throughout the course of his face seemed to really contrast her mood. 

She smiled thinly at him. "Are you done with your little show?"

He coughed before replying, "Yes, miss."

"I have told you that you are obligated to call me by my first name, Connor."

 He sighed and chorused with the enthusiasm of a tired schoolboy. "I am sorry, Amanda."

"I accept your apology. At this rate, it is safe to say that you could be up for consideration, and possibly become a paladin."

Connor's eyes seemed to inhabit a bright sparkle and a broad smile instantly graced his face. "Are you certain about this, Amanda?"

She closed her eyes and dipped her head in an approving nod. "Indefinitely."

He had sprung up to his feet, resuming his regular, boyish nature. His feet shifted amongst themselves, and he began to fiddle with his fingers.  _If only I had a round silver piece with me._

"Your fingers, Connor. Remember what I have said about them."

Both of his hands fell to his side, practically lifeless. He felt a shiver run down his back, an unfriendly reminder of what had last happened when Connor chose not to heed her warning.  _Concern, she had called it._

"Now, where was I?"

Connor raised his hand, unsure if the question she was asking was rhetorical. He was greatly skilled in the art of combat, but Connor was useless when it came to anything remotely to do with charisma. And while he was still bad with talking to his authorities, conversing with peers was a completely different (and more terrifying) subject matter. 

He lowered his head instinctively and squeaked. "Permission to speak, Amanda?"

She looked at him quizzically before adding a confused, "Permission granted, Connor."

"You were talking about how I'm ready for consideration. To become a paladin, that is." His voice became breathy as he continued, ending the statement with a smile (with the slightest trace of a chuckle).

Amanda shook her index finger, not in anger but in affirmation. "Right you are, Connor."

Connor's smile turned sheepish as his pointed ears slightly reddened. Being deemed as 'correct' by Amanda was a euphoric experience. "Happy to be of service, Amanda."

"With that, I think a little bit of refinement needs to be done towards your technique. Starting next week, we shall re-visit the basics such as sword swing, punches and kicks, javelin throwing, etcetera. To throw in a bit of warming up, we will use the same practices as before, just more intense. It will be needed so that you don't fall over and threaten the elders with a sanitary issue if you understand what I am alluding to."

Connor felt uneasy, "I am aware, thank you, Amanda."

"To continue, I feel as though you need to...be more spiritually connected."

Connor's brow clouded with doubt. He raised his brow, "Spiritually connected? I don't know what you mean by that."

"Paladins serve a deity-"

"I am aware of tha-"

Amanda scowled, pent-up rage swirling in her elongated pupils. "You do not, under any circumstances, interrupt me."

Connor flinched, his gaze abruptly falling from his mentor to the floor. "I am sorry, Amanda. This will never happen again." His tone was grave, sombre. 

Amanda  _harrumphed_ in response, her tusks seemed to look sharper. Her large, but far too muscular body overcast a gargantuan shadow on Connor's trembling stature _. Maybe she wouldn't be so intimidating if she weren't a half-orc._

 Amanda went on, an underlying tone of strained anger throughout her voice. "Paladins serve a deity of some sort. Whichever one you pledge your life to is your decision, Connor. But that doesn't come along until a little farther down the paladin path."

Connor nodded bitterly in response, still shaken by Amanda's outburst. 

"You'll need to prove that you are useful, Connor."

He finally met her stare, trying his hardest to appear stoic."I will do what it takes."

Amanda smirked, raised her brow once more in a more teasing manner. "Despite the fact that you  _don't know what_  you'll be asked to do? Coward and especially fear are not an option."

Connor swallowed the fear that had built up from past this moment. He was Connor Adrith, the soon-to-be paladin. Paladins aren't supposed to be afraid. What would have become of his beloved hometown Stream's End and others like it had those paladins been  _scared_? Release of absolute, undiluted peril. Endless torture, and constant suffering. He wouldn't live to undergo the journey that his dream class was to take him on. They had all face death with confident faces, some of them slain in the name of good. What right did Connor have to be afraid of Amanda? His superior, his mentor, his somewhat of a maternal figure. 

He had none.

Amanda snapped her gnarly fingers to break Connor's trance. "Are you ready for what's to come?"

A new light, one almost supernatural seemed to caress his brain. The strength that the heroes before him had shown in the face of adversity had unveiled itself to him. The courage that seemed to border on with recklessness coursed through his veins, for reasons unknown. In a sudden flurry of confusion and determination (which gave a rather painful headache), he managed to muster out, "I am beyond ready for what lurks out there."   
  
As the sudden genesis-this new page was suddenly being turned for Connor, he felt as though he could destroy this whole arena (made with the best Styllian iron that Stream's End has to offer, mind you) with his bare hands. His vision seemed to fade until all that he saw was a brilliantly glowing pastel ochre. His ears muffled all sound like he was submerged in water. His chest grew heavy, however, there wasn't a single thing that lay on his chest with that much weight. He began to splutter (like an ill horse). Connor kept coughing until he had, once more, fallen to his knees. Vision nothing but yellow and the rest of his sense beginning to fade, he began to panic. 

He tried to scream. He was desperate and called for his father, Amanda, his constantly petulant brother Chandler, but all for nought. His voice had vanished. Like it was never there to begin with.

* * *

 

_A soft feminine voice echoed throughout his brain. "Connor." It was faint, barely a whisper._

With the calling of his own name (that didn't seem to come from outside his head nor was it anyone he knew), he collapsed onto the floor. He was starting to hear things!  _I can't be going crazy now, I'm so close to becoming a paladin!_

 _"Connor." Her voice grew louder. She wanted-no, demanded-an answer._  

"I can hear you." Connor didn't dare say it out loud, but he sure would have received an inquiring look from Amanda from how his face was awkwardly scrunched.

_"Good. Something plagues your town soon. An indescribable evil."_

"What do you mean by that?" His eyebrows turned upward.

_"The beast, it's coming. Destroy it."_

Connor was a very avid believer in a large percentage of things but even  _he_ knew when being sceptical was appropriate."What happens if I don't?"

_"Nothing that concerns you, if you love absolutely no one in this town, which we both know is a lie."_

"When is it coming?"

The voice doesn't respond. Silence fills his consciousness.

"Hello?"

Still nothing. His vision slowly retreats back to him, his ears regain their sharp hearing. His voice makes itself known by a very odd scream that rips out of Connor's mouth. He feels like himself, the second time this evening. 

Connor, bewildered and downright stupefied, calls out, "Amanda!"

He's met by silence once more. 

He bolts upright and turns eastward and westward, scanning the arena. He springs up from his feet, calling for her a second time and still scanning his surroundings. 

Amanda is nowhere to be seen. 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 


End file.
